


Courfeycupcakes

by whooves



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Kiss, Fluff, Grantaire is a good friend., M/M, Pining, courfeyrac owns a cupcake shop, jehan quotes poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-18
Updated: 2013-07-18
Packaged: 2017-12-20 14:56:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/888588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whooves/pseuds/whooves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Courfeyrac sighs loud and audibly, and if there were anyone in his cupcake shop to hear him sigh so loud and audibly they would definitely ask him what was wrong, and he would reply <em>my friends have forgotten about me</em>. Which they have.</p><p> (In which Grantaire is a good friend, Jehan is uncharacteristically absent, and Courfeyrac makes wonderful cupcakes.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Courfeycupcakes

**Author's Note:**

> If I did something right, you should probably credit it to [Abby](http://vivelarepublique.tumblr.com), who edited and listened to me whine about this for several days.

It is not that Courfeyrac is unhappy. He just maybe expected more from his friends, maybe _hoped_ for something more from Jehan? Because he has just opened his own store and it’s a fucking _cupcake shop_ and who doesn’t like cupcakes?

For that matter, who doesn’t like Courfeyrac? He sighs loud and audibly, and if there were anyone in his cupcake shop to hear him sigh so loud and audibly they would definitely ask him what was wrong, and he would reply _my friends have forgotten about me_. Which they have.

Courfeyrac has always had a flair for the dramatic – but at half an hour from closing, he is reaching a truly maudlin state. He expected at least _one_ of them to come. Actually, he had expected _all_ of them to come. It is not like Combeferre to forget an engagement or Jehan to neglect a friend. He sighs particularly heavily at this one, because Jehan is _special_ and Jehan has a _special cupcake_ and he _is not here to get one_.

Cosette and Marius are on holiday at the beach – a trip planned farther in advance than his opening date, and okay, _that_ Courfeyrac can handle. Cosette had texted him last night wishing him good luck, and she and Marius had sent him a Snapchat with both of them giving a thumbs-up.

Joly made his excuses earlier that morning, an all-day, non-negotiable shift at his hospital internship. That was okay too; he had agreed to come by tomorrow and had promised to drag along Musichetta as well.

Feuilly had a Thing, Enjolras had a series of Things, Bahorel was probably _in_ the hospital, and Grantaire and Combeferre had not even made excuses.

Neither had Jehan, but that one hurts just a bit more than Courfeyrac would like to admit.

Strangely enough, of all of his friends, Bossuet is the one working with Courfeyrac on this enterprise, managing numbers. Bossuet has even been to the small shop, and only knocked over two chairs and the cash register in the process. Still, he is much better with numbers than being anything less than catastrophically clumsy, and his business degree is coming in handy.

Still, Bossuet has not seen the cupcakes either. The cupcakes are _special_. Courfeyrac has kept them under wraps from _everyone_. He cleans the two tables in front of the counter methodically and ponders. Would his friends have come if they knew about the cupcakes? He looks at his display and tucks the cleaning rag into his apron.

That red and blue cupcake in the corner – that entire design was built off the fact that Enjolras does not stop talking about _Patria_ (the cupcake’s namesake), and it has buttercream frosting because, well, that is Enjolras’s favorite.

The one next to it is Combeferre’s, and it has a blueberry filling. Courfeyrac has been friends with Combeferre since they were three, and his fondest memory is of them going blueberry-picking every summer until they left for college. Courfeyrac smiles at the thought and grabs the Windex from the table. He looks down the line of cupcakes to the one with rosebuds on it and stops, turning his attention to something else. It will not do him any good to sulk.

There have been a steady stream of customers for most of the day. However, an hour and a half before closing is not even close to busy. Nestled in-between a convenience store and a liquor shop, _Courfeyrac’s Cupcakes_ (that’s it, that’s the name of the shop; Courfeyrac has his name on a _sign!_ ) is ideally located for drop-ins and coincidental customers. Plus his advertising was done well-enough and the storefront is absolutely lovely, if you ask him.

Courfeyrac sits down on the stool behind the display counter and pulls out his phone. Still no messages. He had sent out a group message earlier that day as a reminder, and the lack of responses was almost deafening.

Courfeyrac is not _insecure_ , but a certain wide-eyed, red-haired poet leaves him a bit breathless and nervous and unsure, so he had not explicitly asked him if he was coming. If there is one thing Courfeyrac wants to avoid being seen as, it is annoying. So he keeps his silence.

It is through sheer hope and willpower that Courfeyrac keeps his shop open until close, resolutely wiping down the top of the counter until he can see his face in it. He does _not_ look at the door and he does _not_ cry. He has finally locked the door and is starting to take down the display cupcakes when there is a sharp tap on the door.

His head snaps up and his feet are moving towards the door before he can even process it because he would recognize that green hoodie anywhere and it is _Grantaire_. He switches the lock, throws open the door and _beams_.

“You _came_ ,” he breathes.

“Still open?” Grantaire asks hopefully, looking inside. Courfeyrac throws his arms around him and Grantaire laughs, but returns the embrace. If anyone were to come – well, he would not have expected it to be Grantaire.

“You _came_ ,” is still Courfeyrac’s gleeful response. When he pulls back, Grantaire is smiling at him. Courfeyrac stands back so Grantaire can come in.

“Of course I came,” he says. “It was important.” And, as Courfeyrac thinks about it, it makes perfect sense that Grantaire came. Grantaire _really_ cares about a few things and Courfeyrac had not realized it, but maybe he is one of those things. Courfeyrac feels like crying in the best way, and he spins around to busy himself with the cupcakes to hide the wetness at the corner of his eye.

“Okay,” Courfeyrac mutters, while, grabbing Grantaire’s cupcake off the bottom shelf. Grantaire laughs.

“What, _I_ don’t get to pick?” Grantaire teases, but stops when Courfeyrac gently hands him the cupcake on a small paper plate and smiles. He surveys the shelf and his mouth forms a small _oh_ before he looks back at the cupcake on the plate.

“This is _my_ cupcake,” he says softly, and Courfeyrac nods. It is a creamy color, with a slim wedge of lime on top. There is Jose Cuervo flavoring in the center. “You made tequila flavored cupcakes because of me.” Grantaire peels off the paper around the edges with what seems like reverence.

“Freshman year –” Courfeyrac begins, but Grantaire interrupts him.

“I know the story, Courfeyrac. I remember how we met.” And it had been a _fantastic_ experience, tequila shots with salt and lime and Grantaire on the bar stool beside him. Courfeyrac smiles and Grantaire laughs before taking a bite. 

He speaks with a bit of cupcake in his mouth. “I cannot believe you sell cupcakes based off us.”

“Not all of them,” Courfeyrac says with a smile, and shuts the chilled cabinet.

“Please, all of the worthwhile ones.” Grantaire is still smiling widely, but his eyes flutter shut when he reaches the center of the cupcake, and that is the best praise Courfeyrac could have hoped for. “Oh my god Courfeyrac, this is amazing,” he manages to say around a mouthful of cupcake and filling. He polishes it off in mere seconds and Courfeyrac positively _glows_. Grantaire pulls a bill out of his pocket and shoves it at Courfeyrac, who tries to shove it back with watery eyes.

“No, no, I couldn’t possibly.”

“Take it. I am here to support you. Take my money, Courfeyrac, or I will shove it in this tip jar.” Courfeyrac smiles and takes the ten-dollar bill Grantaire has nearly thrown at him. He methodically makes change, which Grantaire shoves in the brightly-decorated tip jar anyways. 

“Thank you,” Courfeyrac says.

“You are more than welcome,” Grantaire replies. “Now, you are going to tell me what to do, I am going to help you close up, and then we are going to go buy a bottle of tequila, take it back to my flat, and celebrate the fact that your cupcakes are fucking delicious.”

Three hours and seven shots apiece later, Courfeyrac and Grantaire are well on their way to being _spectacularly_ drunk.

Courfeyrac holds the bottle by the neck and is trying to pour himself another shot when Grantaire asks a question.

"So how did Enjolras like his cupcake? I can only imagine the look on his face," Grantaire laughs into his hand. His face is flushed with warmth, but Courfeyrac feels his stomach plummet. 

"Um," is his extremely eloquent response, and he frowns. "He didn't."

"He didn't like it? But buttercream is his favorite." The words are long and drawn out, slurred.

"Not that, he didn't...he didn't come, R." Courfeyrac feels the melancholy pulling him down, weighted by alcohol. He is sure he resembles an unhappy three-year-old, with his lower lip pouting and his eyes glassy. 

Grantaire's face darkens.

"What?" He looks at Courfeyrac as if he expects him to rescind his earlier statement. 

"You," he takes a deep breath "you were the only one who came." And _shit_ his eyes are starting to water and he totally could have kept this together but this store is really important to him and no one came and he has had a lot of tequila and-

"Hey hey hey," Grantaire says, tipping Courfeyrac's chin up. He opens his arms and Courfeyrac starts crying and this is _stupid_ and he is _drunk_ but he is also very _sad_ and Grantaire is petting his hair and letting him cry into his shoulder. 

"It's stupid, I know" he mutters into Grantaire's shoulder. Grantaire pulls away.

"No," he says, and Courfeyrac can read his sincerity through the drunken haze. His hands are on Courfeyrac’s shoulders. "It is important. Don't worry, I am gonna make this right." He nods and then drags Courfeyrac back into his lap for a bone-crushing hug. 

Courfeyrac wakes up with more than enough time and with less of a headache than anticipated. He leaves Grantaire's flat to go shower at his own and then heads into work.

When he unlocks the door, he smiles. For all of his distress last night, Courfeyrac _really_ loves this shop and he _really_ loves cupcakes. With a small smile he plugs in his iPod to the sound system and preheats the oven as he mixes up a batch of cupcake batter. He hums idly along to Taylor Swift as he mixes and plans which cupcakes to make today.

The ones he had made for Joly had sold the best yesterday, with their peanut butter filling and Reese's Cup on top. Courfeyrac is not surprised; they are _incredibly_ tasty. He also needs a couple batches of the basics with chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry icing.

As he bakes, he also sings and dances around the back kitchen, trying to keep his mind off yesterday. 

Courfeyrac somehow manages stay focused on cupcakes and has the display case fully stocked by opening. Much to his delight, there is a line of customers waiting to come in. He puts on his widest, most charming smile. Even without trying, he is well aware of the effect his sparkling eyes and easy friendliness have, and he uses them to his advantage to make customers feel welcome.

As Courfeyrac approaches, he sees Combeferre at the front of the line, two coffee cups in hand. He smiles when Courfeyrac unlocks the door and greets him with a soft _hello_. 

Courfeyrac moves back behind the counter, wordlessly puts one of the blueberry cupcakes on a plate and slides it across the counter. Combeferre looks at it and smiles, before mirroring Courfeyrac’s action and sliding one of the coffee cups across the counter. 

"I am sorry I was not here yesterday. Grantaire said - well, it does not matter. I should have been here; you deserved better." 

"Apology accepted," Courfeyrac says with a smile, and really, it's okay. "You are here now."

"And I am so incredibly proud of you, Courf." 

Courfeyrac beams and sips his latte. It's _perfect_ \- Combeferre knows his order to a T. He cannot help the flush that spreads over his cheeks, from the praise, the hot beverage, or maybe both. He busies himself with Combeferre's change.

"I know I can't do it year-round, but I picked the blueberries myself." Courfeyrac motions to the cupcake, and Combeferre looks at it with surprise. 

"Oh. It is a cupcake based on-" 

"Us, yeah. Look at the rest." Combeferre scans the case and chuckles a bit before looking up to smile at Courfeyrac, who grins back. "Now don't be late to work," Courfeyrac says, leaning over the counter to give Combeferre a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you for coming."

"This is wonderful, Courfeyrac. You have created an amazing place." 

The elderly woman in line behind Combeferre coos at them and Courfeyrac smiles brightly at her as Combeferre makes his way out of the door with a cheery wave goodbye. 

"Your boyfriend is cute," she compliments, clutching a great purple handbag under her arm. Courfeyrac smiles at the woman and lets out an infectious laugh.

"Oh no, ma'am, he’s not my boyfriend. If he were my boyfriend I would have kissed him on the mouth," he says with a wink. The woman laughs and orders half a dozen cupcakes. Before she leaves, Courfeyrac has learned the name of her four grandchildren as well as her favorite kinds of flowers and most of her life story. It is not a bad morning, all in all. Business trickles off around eleven, but he finds his shop nearly full during lunch, and with the wave of customers come more anecdotes and minutiae. Here, Courfeyrac is in his element.

Still, when Bossuet and Joly walk through the door his day brightens even more. Joly is still in his scrubs, and his hurried manner suggests he is on his lunch break. Bossuet trails lazily alongside him.

Courfeyrac greets them brightly, already getting out two plates. Bossuet looks around, but keeps his hands firmly in his pockets.

“The place looks nice all done up, Courfeyrac,” Bossuet says.

“You’re lucky I don’t make you wait outside,” Courfeyrac replies, but his eyes are sparkling. He is already pulling out plates and Joly laughs as he looks at the display case.

“These are brilliant,” he says. “And the place looks pristine.”

“It meets all the health standards, don’t you worry,” Courfeyrac winks at him. He puts a peanut butter cupcake on a plate for Joly. A triple-chocolate one goes on another plate for Bossuet, whose mouth begins to water reflexively. “Ah, there is an Oreo on the bottom of that one, too,” Courfeyrac notes to Bossuet. 

The stories behind their cupcakes are a bit more vague, but involve lots of chocolate and lots of Courfeyrac crying. He likes to think of Bossuet and Joly’s comforting presence at the time more than he does the actual story. Courfeyrac has the best friends.

Bossuet picks up a cupcake for Musichetta while they are there, and Joly has to rush back to work. Bossuet, however, stays to look over Courfeyrac’s numbers from the first day. He leaves approximately half an hour before Bahorel and Feuilly make their way in.

Bahorel looks surprisingly at ease in a cupcake shop, even though his rugged appearance and tattooed arms attract stares from some of Courfeyrac’s customers. Courfeyrac already has his cupcake on a plate - Chocolate base, with icing to look like Cookie Monster on the top. The less said about the story behind it, the better.

Feuilly’s cupcake is one he is _very_ proud of, both for the baking finesse required as well as its cleverness. A _Mille-Feuilly_ cupcake, it is a (delicious) pun. It takes Feuilly a moment to understand but when he does, his own laughter joins Bahorel’s. The mille-feuille topping of Feuilly’s cupcake is a light cream icing, covered with thin wafers, and it is by far the most difficult topping for Courfeyrac to make. So, he is appropriately proud when Feuilly takes a bite and makes an inappropriate sound for a cupcake shop. 

“Courfeyrac, this is the best thing I have ever put in my mouth.” He slowly devours it, bite by bite, savouring the taste. Bahorel on the other hand has finished his entire cupcake before he has a chance to pay, and he is still chuckling as he wipes icing off the corner of his mouth.

“Well done, Courfeyrac,” he grins. 

“Thank you,” Courfeyrac replies as he rings them both up.

“Are you going to be at the meeting tonight?” Feuilly asks, and Courfeyrac shakes his head no.

“I close at around the same time it starts, so I wouldn’t be cleaned up and out of here until the meeting is almost over. I will be there Friday, though.” 

Feuilly smiles.“Okay, see you then!”

When the door clicks shut, Courfeyrac goes to pull another batch out of the oven, and comes back to a ding on the bell and a pretty girl with a long braid waiting on the other side of the counter. As she flirts with him, he does his best to not think about other slender beauties who are _not_ in his shop at the moment. He serves her a _Patria_ cupcake with a smile, and her signature on his copy of the receipt is not a name, but a telephone number. He sighs, and sticks it with the other credit card receipts in the bottom of the cash register drawer.

Really, quite a few attractive girls and guys come in and flirt with him, and he is tempted to check his social media presence. It takes only a few minutes on his phone for him to find some remarks about his physical appearance on the Courfeyrac's Cupcakes Facebook page. He rolls his eyes and lets out another self-indulgent sigh. He tucks his phone back away and takes a batch of white icing out of the fridge, intent on making up some more _Patria_ and _Mille-Feuilly_ cupcakes. 

Since the lunch rush has trickled off, he only has a customer every now and then, allowing him to focus on his cupcakes for a couple of hours. He has mixed up a new batch of chocolate icing for tomorrow and is sticking it in the fridge when he hears his phone and the service bell on the counter ding simultaneously. 

First he tends to his customer- a father with his daughter, asking if Courfeyrac does birthday parties in the store ( _absolutely_ , he says right to her, _anything for princesses like you_ ). He gives her father an estimate for the party based on the number of guests, and is promised a call by the girl's mother to schedule something for the following month.

When he checks his phone, he sees a message from Grantaire:

_How are you today? :)_  
 _\- R_

He composes a quick reply:

_:) :) :)_  
 _Everyone besides Enjolras and Jehan have been by today._

_Well, and Cosette and Marius, but they’re at the beach until Thursday._

Grantaire's reply comes quickly:

_Got it! :] See you later!_  
 _-R_

Courfeyrac briefly considers telling Grantaire he doesn’t have to come by today, but knows he will ignore it. He sends a smiley face instead, and gets back to work. 

For the rest of the day Courfeyrac functions under the premise that Jehan will come in. Most of his friends made it today, and surely Jehan will too. Enjolras will come and Jehan will come and Jehan will love his flowery cupcake and everything will be coming up roses (pun intended). 

He hums along to his sound system and continues to cheerily serve his customers, resolutely ignoring the swirling pit of despair settling into his stomach. He briefly wonders if Grantaire will share his tequila again tonight, but pushes his pessimistic thoughts to the back of his mind.

Courfeyrac is sweeping the floor while softly singing along to some All Time Low when the door bursts open and his friends trail in. Enjolras is first with the rest behind him, and Courfeyrac feels something swoop through his body. If he had to name it, the closest feeling it resembles is _hope_. 

However, any assumptions he may have had about the group are quickly dispelled as he scans faces - everyone here he has seen today, except for Eponine, Gavroche, and Musichetta. 

"Courfeyrac," Enjolras says with his hand on Courfeyrac's shoulder, "I hope you are not averse to us holding tonight's meeting in your shop." Courfeyrac smiles and shakes his head.

"Of course not. But first...?" He trails off and gestures toward the cupcake case. Enjolras raises his eyebrows and seems on the verge of declining, but Grantaire puts a hand low on his back and gently nudges him forward. 

"Of course," Enjolras begins, "I will have..." His eyebrows furrow as he scans the names of the cupcakes, one by one. His eyes flick up to meet Coureyrac's across the counter. Courfeyrac wordlessly picks a _Patria_ off the shelf and hands it to Enjolras, who looks enraptured. 

"Courfeyrac, you do realize you could be handing out flyers about our club meetings to anyone who orders one," Enjolras’s voice only wavers a bit, still looking at the cupcake in awe. Grantaire nudges Enjolras in the side as a reprimand, but Courfeyrac only laughs.

"Give me some flyers and I will be sure to leave them out," he promises. 

Enjolras licks some of the icing off the top of the cupcake, and Courfeyrac watches Grantaire's eyes go wide. Courfeyrac represses a wicked smile and merely suggests that Enjolras get on with the meeting. Enjolras calls them to order, and Grantaire leans over the counter to Courfeyrac.

“I, ah, could not get ahold of Jehan. He isn’t answering his email, his phone, or his door,” he says. Courfeyrac’s head grows a bit light, and he digs his fingers into the counter to steady himself.

“Do you think everything is okay?” Courfeyrac asks, and he hopes that it comes out in more than the strained whisper he thinks that it does. Grantaire puts a hand over Courfeyrac’s to reassure him.

“I am sure we would know if anything was truly wrong. Relax, it’ll be okay.” He smiles until Courfeyrac returns the gesture.

The meeting ends up being more of just a gathering of friends, as Courfeyrac shows Gavroche how to put icing on cupcakes and Combeferre talks Enjolras down about his latest rally idea. From the door to the kitchen, Courfeyrac can see Enjolras’s hand loosely entwined with Grantaire’s. Courfeyrac assumes Enjolras does not even realize what is happening.

Courfeyrac leaves Gavroche to ice his own cupcakes, and leans against the doorjamb to better observe his friends. Bahorel, Feuilly, and Musichetta are deep in discussion about something, and Feuilly’s hands are everywhere, no doubt over-emphasizing his point. Eponine is on the other side of Combeferre, pulling his attention from Enjolras with quips and snarky comments. Joly and Bossuet are looking through Courfeyrac’s cupcake book and pointing at the ones that they think look especially delicious. Grantaire makes a stray remark, intended to irk Enjolras. Courfeyrac cannot hear what he says, but Enjolras turns to him with the usual fire in his eyes. He leans forward and shoots an angry remark back at Grantaire. Their fingers tighten their grip on each other between their seats, and there is no way Enjolras does not realize what is happening. Still, together they sit and argue, all the while holding hands.

Something warm shoots up Courfeyrac’s spine at the easy contact between them, and he makes a momentary decision. He strides purposefully into the fray.

“Time to wrap up, everyone. I have something I need to do.” He is met with mostly curious gazes. Instead of clarifying, he goes back to the kitchen to clean up.

Courfeyrac sends Eponine and Gavroche home with the batch of cupcakes they had iced together and makes sure to send home icing samples and recipes with whomever wants them. Within ten minutes he is packing up a box of cupcakes before he can second-guess himself, and locks the door behind him. Grantaire and Enjolras are the only two left lingering outside.

“Hey,” Grantaire says, stopping Courfeyrac on his way out. He glances at the container in Courfeyrac’s hand, looks through the clear top to the cupcakes inside, and raises his eyebrows. “Good luck,” is all he says, before fondly ruffling Courfeyrac’s hair. Enjolras smiles, and follows Grantaire to his car.

“Goodnight, Courfeyrac,” he says over his shoulder. Courfeyrac nods to them both and thanks them for coming. When he gets into his car, he puts the cupcake box on the floor in front of the passenger seat and begins the drive to Jehan’s.

He turns on his iPod halfway through the drive; his hands tremble just a bit. He talks out his fears in his mind and takes deep breaths. Jehan will not be cruel to him, he tells himself, Jehan will be nothing but lovely and sweet, even in rejection. (The thought still makes his throat close, but his pulse does slow marginally).

Too quickly, Courfeyrac is standing outside Jehan’s apartment, fist raised to rap his knuckles against the door. He knocks five times, and waits with his forehead against the wood. As he listens for any sign of noise from inside, he takes deep breaths and rearranges the box so he is again holding it with two hands.

Courfeyrac is on an exhale when Jehan opens the door slowly, giving him just enough time to lift his head.

“Courf,” Jehan whispers. “Come in,” he says, as he moves aside to let Courfeyrac through. 

Jehan is wearing plaid pajama bottoms that definitely belong to Combeferre and an old t-shirt that Courfeyrac is pretty sure was originally Grantaire’s. His hair is mussed, but held in a loose braid, and his reddened eyes are still glazed from sleep.

He looks _tired_ and he looks _sad_ , and Courfeyrac’s heart aches with the urge to hold him. He clutches at the box in his hands instead. Courfeyrac follows Jehan into the small living room wordlessly and sits on the couch next to him.

“I brought,” he takes a deep breath. “I brought cupcakes. Are you okay?” Jehan takes the box out of Courfeyrac’s hands and sets it on the coffee table. His hands come up to frame Courfeyrac’s face and he draws him close to press a kiss on his nose. Courfeyrac exhales sharply and his eyes flutter shut. When he opens them, Jehan is smiling tiredly back at him. His hands fall away from Courfeyrac’s face to rest back in Jehan’s lap, and Courfeyrac misses their steadying warmth.

“I am sorry I didn’t come yesterday,” Jehan says. He looks down and fiddles with his hands, lacing his fingers and pulling them apart again. “I had to go see my mom,” his voice is wavering noticeably, and Courfeyrac waits, shoulders tense. “My aunt died,” he finishes quietly.

Courfeyrac feels all the air rush out of his lungs as if in a vacuum, but makes himself speak anyways.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, and it sounds to him as if his voice is miles away. “Are you okay?” he asks again. _Stupid question_ , Courfeyrac chastises himself. 

He reaches over to take Jehan’s hand in his own, and Jehan lets him, shifting closer in the process. Jehan still faces Courfeyrac, but lays his head against the back of the couch. His eyes are shining with tears and he clutches at Courfeyrac’s hands.

“I am,” he begins, and takes a shuddering breath, “so tired.” Courfeyrac listens and waits as Jehan composes himself. “My mother is nearly catatonic about it. I’ve spent the last two days making phone calls and planning everything and it’s not even _over_ , oh God I have to go _back_ , Courfeyrac,” and Jehan lets out a sob. He takes one of his hands to wipe his eyes and then press against his mouth. His eyes are wide and Courfeyrac tugs him forward until he is close enough for Courfeyrac to wrap him in a hug.

Jehan is incredibly still in Courfeyrac’s arms, and his breathing evens out after a minute or so. He pulls back and manages to smile at Courfeyrac.

“Services are in two days and I have to go back tomorrow. I just wanted to be home for a while, to sleep. I just got back a couple hours ago and my phone has been dead for at least a day and I am so sorry.” He looks straight into Courfeyrac’s eyes, and Courfeyrac blinks. 

He reaches up to trace Jehan’s brow, but makes his hand reach for the box on the table instead. He opens it and pulls out one dainty vanilla cupcake, decorated with swirls of green and blue. There are rosebuds dotting the edges, and Jehan holds out his hand when Courfeyrac motions him to.

“This is yours,” Courfeyrac says, a bit uneasily. Jehan looks from Courfeyrac to the cupcake and back. He smiles at the cupcake in his hand, and places it back in the box. Courfeyrac shifts in his seat and frowns. But then Jehan’s hands are framing his face again, and he is leaning in to press the softest of kisses against Courfeyrac’s lips.

“ _A rosebud set with little wilful thorns / And sweet as English air could make her, she_ ,” Jehan murmurs against his lips. Courfeyrac does not quite understand the quote, especially because he feels as if he is floating on air. But Jehan’s voice near his lips is soft and musical, and Courfeyrac instantly commits the words to memory.

Instead of answering, Courfeyrac puts his arms back around Jehan and plays with the end of his braid. After a few moments, Jehan pulls back and Courfeyrac feels dazed as he lets Jehan's hair slip through his fingers.

"I really am very tired, Courfeyrac," Jehan says softly. Courfeyrac moves to stand, but Jehan stops him with a hand on his arm. "But will you stay?"

Courfeyrac is stunned, but he nods. "Of course," he whispers.

He lets Jehan fold Courfeyrac around him on the couch. His face ends up in Jehan's hair and his arms around Jehan's middle.

"I can't wait to see your shop," Jehan says sleepily, leaning his head back onto Courfeyrac's shoulder. Courfeyrac traces patterns on Jehan's shirt with his fingertips, and tries to recall exactly how he got to this point. "I am sure it is lovely," 

"It _is_ lovely," he murmurs into Jehan’s hair. As Jehan drifts to sleep and Courfeyrac's own eyelids begin to grow heavier, he cannot help but think that however lovely the shop is, it will look even lovelier with Jehan inside it. 

(It is only two more days until Courfeyrac finds out how right he is, with Jehan pressing a good morning kiss against his lips from across the counter, tasting sweeter than any cupcake Courfeyrac could ever create.)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr](http://www.whooves.tumblr.com), if you wish to find me there. :)
> 
> Jehan quotes from a Tennyson piece called [The Princess](http://classiclit.about.com/library/bl-etexts/atennyson/bl-aten-princess.htm).


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